


The Ring

by phoenixgyeom



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 05:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20615765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgyeom/pseuds/phoenixgyeom
Summary: Jinyoung didn't expect to find answers in an shady underground fight club for children of the gods, but the night is full of surprises.





	The Ring

Jinyoung didn’t want to be here.

The press of bodies against him made him miserable enough, but the yelling and stench of beer on people’s breath made him sick. He stood as far away from the ring as possible, but even the back of the crowd was thick with bodies. It had only been a few minutes since he arrived, but there was already a dull ache forming in his temples.

He startled as someone put their hand on his shoulder. There was a flash of gold as the person moved in front of him. He was taken aback to see a boy a few years younger than him. He was tall, skinny, and dressed head to toe in black—all except for the thick golden chain hung around his neck.

His lips tightened into a line. _This_ was the person he was here to meet?

“Park Jinyoung, right?” the boy shouted over the noise—his voice very, well, _boyish_.

“How could you tell?” Jinyoung replied, eyeing him carefully.

“The scar, mostly.” He barked out a laugh just as boyish as his voice, but Jinyoung didn’t know what was so funny. The boy tugged on his sweater, making him cringe an inch or two backwards. “This was pretty helpful, too.”

He scowled. “Yeah, okay. You said you’d help me.”

“I will once the match is over.” He flashed him a grin. “Don’t disappear on me.”

Before he had a chance to respond, the boy had already disappeared into the crowd. He stared after him, trying to remember his name from the email. Was it Bimbim? Bamboo? Dumbo? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

Jinyoung glanced behind him. The wall that had been occupied earlier was now free. He settled against it, pulled his phone from his pocket, and found the email from a few weeks back.

Bambam <doublebam@gmail.com>

Hey Sunshine,

Just saw your email. Meet you @ the rink in two weeks. 7 PM.

Bambam, Son of Mnemosyne

Oh. Bambam. Close enough, right?

He glanced up as a body clattered against the cage surrounding the ring and collapsed into a heap—the impact strong enough that he felt a blast of air from it. The body, a man with horns by the looks of it, was struggling to pick himself off the ground. Hovering above him was a lithe girl with a ferocious look on her face.

She reeled back with her fist and punched, but her hand was nowhere near his face. Instead, a blast of air exploded from her knuckles and the man’s head slammed against the cage, knocking him out cold.

The referee grabbed her hand and held it above her head. “Gaea is the winner!”

The crowd exploded in cheers. He covered his ears until the unconscious body was dragged out of the ring and the excitement died down.

The name of the girl’s mother popped into his head. Aeolus. The daughter of Aeolus. That’s who she was. He wondered which god or goddess the man was the son of. Pan, maybe, with those horns.

He wondered what it was like to be the son of a god or goddess and to hold their power in his hands. Over the past six months, he didn’t allow himself to daydream about the possibility. It was extremely rare—rarer than dying of the bubonic plague—and to even think he was one? Impossible.

He crossed his arms. But there was a chance, wasn’t there? That’s why he was here. To find out. To regain his memories.

Jinyoung waited for what felt like an eternity, but Bambam wasn’t showing up like he promised. Around him, the room buzzed with excited chatter. Anticipation hung thick in the air like fog. If a big match was coming up, he wondered if Bambam would ever come back.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

**(852)6097-0021**: I think you’ll want to see this one. Meet @ the cage.

He stared at the screen, bewildered.

**Jinyoung**: How did you get my number?

He waited, but a response never came. With a sigh, he shoved his phone into his back pocket and made his way into the crowd. After a lot of polite excuse mes, resigned shoving, nearly giving up, and tons of angry glares he found Bambam at the edge of the ring.

“Took you long enough,” Bambam said. “Best seats in the house, huh?”

“I nearly died trying to get here,” he said. “How did you get my number?” 

“Don’t worry about it. The match is about to start.”

He glared at him. “What makes you think I want to see it?”

“I just do,” Bambam shouted. “Look, they’re coming out.”

He glanced into the cage and his jaw nearly fell to the floor. One of the competitors had wings. They were full of brilliant, golden dappled feathers. If they were beautiful folded behind his back, he couldn’t imagine how they looked outstretched. Even his human features were handsome—with his hair the color of honey, his thin, sharp face, and glistening eyes. Jinyoung couldn’t pull his gaze away.

“He’s the son of Nike, isn’t he?” he whispered.

“Yup, his name is Mark. And that is the son of Tyche. Quite the lucky guy.”

“No kidding,” Jinyoung chuckled, turning to the other side of the ring. There stood a man with pitch black hair and a shadowed face. Something about the hunch of his broad shoulders and the way he moved seemed oddly familiar.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Jaebum,” Bambam said. “He’s undefeated.”

The son of Tyche, the deity of luck. No wonder.

The referee stepped forward, causing another uproar of the crowd. The two competitors stepped face-to-face in front of the referee and shook hands. Jaebum flashed his opponent the slightest upturn of his mouth—a gesture that screamed of arrogance. The winged boy glared back, hatred burning like fire in his eyes.

“Have they fought before?” he asked. “They look like they want to eat each other alive.”

Bambam was quiet for so long Jinyoung thought he didn’t hear him. He was on the verge of repeating himself when Bambam said, “Yeah, more than once. That last time was six months ago at the end of last season.”

“Must not have ended well.”

“It didn’t.”

The competitors retreated to either side of the ring. Jinyoung could feel the crackle of anticipation around him. Despite how little he wanted to be here, a twinge of excitement tugged at his stomach. He actually _wanted_ to watch.

The referee left the cage and blew a whistle.

Just like that, the match began.

In a flurry of motion, Jaebum sprang forward, but barely made it halfway across the ring before Mark extended his wings and lifted into the air. The crowd gasped. Jinyoung stared, astounded by the grace of his movements. His feathers flickered like stardust in the stadium lights.

_I’m rooting for you_, he thought. _Luck is a difficult thing to beat_.

From the ground, Jaebum watched him like a cat, anticipating his attack.

Mark sprang, dropping down upon Jaebum, who slid easily out of the way as the winged boy landed beside him. He stretched his wings to take off again, but Jaebum was already on him. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and threw him towards the cage. Mark scrambled and managed to shield himself with his wings as he clattered against the metal.

_Come on, don’t let him get the best of you._

Jaebum ran towards him, but Mark gathered enough sense to dive out of the way—striking out with his wings as he did. Jaebum ducked, but Mark managed to clip his flank hard enough that he fell.

Jinyoung tried and failed to hold back a shout of excitement.

Jaebum scowled as he pushed himself to his feet. At the same time, Mark lifted back into the air—close enough to Jinyoung that he felt the wind created by the beat of his wings.

Instantly, Mark folded his wings inward and dropped down upon Jaebum again, this time catching him straight on. He drove him into the cage with his feet, hard enough that he gasped in pain.

The audience exploded into cheers and Jinyoung joined them.

Mark backed up and waited for him to stand, hatred casting his face in shadow.

Jaebum was back on his feet. A flash of scarlet ran down the back of his neck, his face a mask of anger.

_Uh oh._

He dove for the winged boy, aiming straight for his face with his fist. Mark tried to slide out of his way, but faltered and stumbled forward. Jaebum was on him faster than lighting—catching him square in the jaw with his knuckles. Jinyoung flinched at the _crack_ of bone against bone.

“He had the advantage!” Jinyoung said, exasperated. “Why didn’t he move out of the way?”

“Luck,” Bambam replied, disappointment laced in his voice.

Another sharp _crack_ drew his eyes back to the ring. Jaebum had Mark backed against the cage and was whaling on him. There was a splatter of blood each time his fist connected with his face. When Mark was limp in his grasp he reeled back, grabbed onto one of his wings, and pulled his body from the cage. He tossed him like a ragdoll and Mark collapsed in a heap a few feet away from where Jinyoung stood.

Blood pooled from his nose and his eye was nearly swollen shut. The only part of him that moved was the ragged rise and fall of his chest beneath the wing that shielded him. He seemed like he was trying hard to stay conscious.

The sight of it made Jinyoung’s chest ache.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaebum slunk toward Mark. 

“Get up,” Jinyoung said. He grabbed the cage and rattled it. “Get up!”

Mark found him in the crowd. He stared at him in confusion and disbelief. 

“Jinyoung?”

“Did he just say my name?” His heart pounded against his chest. “Bambam, did he just say my name?” But Bambam didn’t have a chance to respond before Jaebum grabbed onto the wing that protected his body and yanked it free.

“Any last words, bird-boy?” Jaebum said, leaning over him.

Mark’s mouth curled into a snarl, revealing a set of fangs.

“You never really win,” he snarled. “Without luck, you’d be nothing.”

Jaebum shrugged. “The thing is, Mark, is I _do_ have luck.”

Then he straightened up and cracked him in the skull with his foot, knocking him out cold.

Jinyoung could barely hear the sound of the crowd or the referee announcing the winner. He was almost positive Bambam was talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on what he was saying. All he could see was Mark as they dragged him from the ring, blood trailing after him. He could still hear his voice saying his name. The sound of it, the way he said it, was so emotional—so _familiar_.

How did Mark know him? 

“Bambam, why did you bring me here?” he asked, desperate for answers.

Bambam gave him a complicated expression. “I think it’s time I did this.”

Jinyoung flinched as the younger boy put his cold hands on his temples. A strange tingling sensation sent a shiver down his spine. His closed his eyes and gasped as an explosion of colors appeared behind his eyelids.

Images—hundreds upon hundreds of images—filled his vision. He saw flashes of Mark, heard his voice, felt the touch of his skin and a brush of feathers, and suddenly he knew him.

Bambam was there, too, with his golden chain and sly grin. His friend. 

Then, in a flash of darkness, he saw Jaebum. Jaebum, with the devil entangled in his smile. He was above him, striking him with his fist. One punch and his memories were wiped clean. Gone, for six long months.

He opened his eyes and found himself gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Bambam said. “Is the Jinyoung I know in there?”

“Yes,” he said, steadying his breathing. “I’m here.”

“Do you get why I brought you here now?”

“Yes.” He looked him dead in the eyes. “But why didn’t you come find me?”

His friend frowned. “We tried, Jinyoung. Once you were sent to the hospital, they wouldn’t tell us where they took you. We checked every damn hospital in the city, but none of them would tell us anything. They said it was confidential. We tried your apartment, but it was empty. And your phone—your phone was left behind in your locker after the match. You never came back for it. We thought you were dealing with losing the match and didn’t want to see us. We had no idea you lost your memory until you sent me that email. I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on my screen. We thought we’d never see you again.”

He swallowed and thought about the new phone in his pocket. He had no idea in all the time he was gone someone _missed_ him.

And Mark. How could he do that to Mark?

“Is he okay?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“He’s heartbroken, Jinyoung. But he’ll forgive you.”

He nodded, but it didn’t soothe the pain in his chest. 

They both startled as the cage rattled above them.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Jaebum said, crouching down so he was their height. “Quite the scar you got there, Jinyoung. Where’d you get it?”

Years of forgotten hatred and anger built up in his chest until static caused the hair on his arms to stand. His hair crackled as sparks travelled through his veins. For six months, the power was stagnant inside him, waiting patiently for him to realize it was there.

Waiting for him to see who he really was. 

“I want a rematch,” he said. “Right now.”

Jaebum’s mouth spread into a grin.

“You’re on, sparky. Come and get me.”

He turned and slunk back into the ring.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Bambam said. “The ring’s been waiting for you.”

And it had. The ring would wait forever for the son of Zeus.

**Author's Note:**

> I had two visions for this story before I wrote it: Mark with wings and Jinyoung with a lost memory. My first draft was absolute garbage, but when I added Bambam in there—suddenly it worked! If I had more time to think about it, I probably would've wrote Bambam as Jackson instead, but I'm glad I didn't. I love Jinyoung and Bambam's friendship. 
> 
> I actually wrote this for my creative writing class. I went back and changed all the names before turning it in, but it made writing for school more interesting. Jinyoung became Jyn and Mark stayed Mark, but best believe I kept all the gay in there for my professor to read. Hope he likes it. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading my first fic! I hoped you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it!


End file.
